


Nearly a Near-Death Experience

by borrowedphrases



Category: Leverage
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Mentioned Gun Violence, Mid-Canon, Multi, Podfic Welcome, when eliot was saying 'damn it hardison' what he meant was 'I love you'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: "Do you want to be alone?" Parker asks."No." Eliot eases himself back against Hardison's chest. "No I do not."
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 30
Kudos: 278
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Nearly a Near-Death Experience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lilith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilith/gifts).



> Set right after the events of S5:E9 "The Rundown Job".

Long fingers unwind the lengths of gauze and bandage from around Eliot's shoulder, smaller digits doing the same from around his thigh. Dexterous and careful fingers. Fingers meant to glide over touchscreens and keyboards. Meant to liberate items from rich men's pockets. They aren't meant to get themselves dirty. That's his job.

Dish out hits so they don't have to. Take the hits so they'll stay safe.

At least all the blood is his. At least their hands are getting dirty trying to heal instead of hurt.

There's the stinging tug of blood-soaked gauze pulling away from a wound, and Eliot is just exhausted enough to not bother stopping himself from wincing. Parker glances up from where she's wrapping fresh dressing around his thigh, meeting his gaze for a lingering second before looking away again. It's more weakness than he ever wants to show her - to show either of them. To show _anyone_ \- but, well, circumstances being what they are, he could let it slide. Just this once.

Hardison is softly humming some inane little tune as he cleans the shoulder wound before re-dressing it. Eliot would tell him to shut up any other time, but it's actually - and he will never, _ever_ admit this aloud - sort of soothing. Grounding, in a weird way. It's helping to remind him that they're all really here, that they're all alive and (mostly) whole. He's been shot before, lots of times, more times than he wants to spend time counting - he could, but he won't.

This time feels… different.

He almost lost them today. That's the difference.

When the first bullet hit near his shoulder he'd staggered, then shook it off, rallied like he always does. He had a job to do - protect _them_ , protect _his people_ \- and his will to see that job through was stronger than any bullet or bomb or weaponized disease. But there had been a moment - a horrible, agonizing moment - when he thought he'd lost them both.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to see a doctor?" Hardison asks - they must be taking turns, since Parker was the one to ask that about an hour ago - as he tapes off the fresh dressing and helps Eliot back into his shirt. "Not even for the pain?"

"Damn it, Hardison." Eliot grumbles, not even a hint of bite or growl to the words. He draws in a shaky breath, wincing again as the rise and fall of his chest pulls at the bullet wound. "No. No I just need some sleep."

Eliot gestures toward the hotel room at large with the hand on his less injured side. It's nice enough. Clean, small, single large bed in its center. Good for the brief stay they'll be having there. "Just an hour, maybe two, then we can head on home."

"Do you want to be alone?" Parker asks, sliding to the edge of the bed and draping her feet off the side. She rests her hands on the bed at her sides, looking at Eliot over her shoulder.

"No." Eliot shakes his head, then eases himself back against Hardison's chest, effectively stopping Hardison from trying to move. "No I do not."

Hardison gives a small laugh that's more a vibration than a sound, carefully moving so that he can lie them both down, carefully keeping Eliot held close against his chest. "Just for an hour. Right."

"An hour." Parker slides back over the bed and nestles in against Eliot's side, her head on his uninjured shoulder, her hand resting over the center of his chest. "Maybe two."

"One for each bullet hole." Hardison says, and Eliot can hear the raised eyebrow and lopsided smile in his voice.

"Something like that." Eliot's eyes drift closed just as fingers begin to work their way through his hair, rhythmic and measured glides. He can't tell which of of them is doing it, maybe they both are. It's not like it matters.

He's got Hardison's heartbeat under his head and his heartbeat under Parker's.

And that, _that_ matters.


End file.
